


Let's Taco Bout It

by thebravelittlemonkey



Category: Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616, Young Avengers
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Past Sexual Assault
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-08
Updated: 2014-03-07
Packaged: 2018-01-14 23:54:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1283452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebravelittlemonkey/pseuds/thebravelittlemonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Hawkeyes enjoy some after hours training, and a well kept secret accidentally comes to the surface. Disclaimer: this story doesn't have enough tacos in it to warrant that pun, but it's happening anyways.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let's Taco Bout It

**Author's Note:**

> This is an old piece I wrote (back before the Fraction and Aja run!) about my two favorite archers. I appreciate that Kate's assault has never been the center of her plot, but I've always been curious what would happen if Barton found out. This is the start to a short fic of my interpretation. I'd like to finish it and I figured what better motivation than a few good critics! Thanks for reading :)

_Aw shit._

Clint wished he could say in times of panic, his brain clicked into some super Avenger mode, the one all his team mates seemed to have; that time slowed down, adrenaline kicked in, and he came up with the perfect recovery plan. He’d even settle for a mode that just resembled intelligence. But right now there was a heel digging painfully into his chest and his feet had ceased the necessary function of supporting his weight. The only thought in his head as he became air-born, therefore, was _aw shit._

After his back hit the mat with a defiant _thud_ and his limbs splayed out ungracefully around him, he contemplated whether or not he could just lie there. More importantly he contemplated whether or not his lungs were still working. Current status: unconfirmed. Groaning, Clint finally rolled onto his side, pulling himself up with as much dignity as he could muster. As a man who had just been floored by a twelve year old girl, this wasn’t a whole hell of a lot.

It was after hours at the archery clinic, so Kate and Barton were enjoying their usual Thursday night hand-to-hand training. His student was improving, only landing on the mat eleven times, while Barton shook off his third defeat. It was a painful thanks for being a good teacher, having a teen kick the breathe out of his lungs, but Barton took a hit better than he took a compliment. And the two certainly weren’t the complimenting type.

“You’re welcome.”

“What for again?” he breathed out, tentatively testing out his lungs as he massaged the bruising rib. “The crushed lung cavity? How did you know it was on my Christmas list,” he quipped, rolling back his shoulder as he circled his way back to the center of the mat.

“I heard a nice pop there. I think I finally got that old back of yours into place,” she replied in a matter-of-fact tone, shrugging with feigned innocence that was completely negated by her little smart aleck smile. “And your lung cavity is fine; don’t be a baby,” she added.

“You’re too kind, really.” Without any cue, the two moved seamlessly from throwing insults to throwing punches. Training time was limited, so they didn’t bother with breaks. It built endurance and the sooner they finished, the sooner pizza could be ordered. With round fifteen underway, Clint could already smell it. Or perhaps that was body odor. Keeping up with this girl was actually starting to become a workout.

Kate, on the other hand, was doing her best to prolong the match. She danced around Barton’s blows with some fancy footwork as she relished the pure energy coursing through her body; every muscle tensed, her senses hyper-focused, her movements clean and precise. It was sheer power and independence, being able to hold your own with nothing but your body. She felt perfectly in control and it gave her a sense of peace that nothing else could compare to. And she didn’t mind the company too much either.

“Oh, too slow again old man,” she teased, twisting past his punch with surprising quickness and snapping back around with an eager grin. She was always a little cocky after she managed to pin him, and the result was usually this insufferable ninja crap where she bounced around the sparring mat like a sugar high gazelle.

“Sure, sure twinkle toes, are you trying to dance me to death here?” he replied, only a tinge of real annoyance as he tried to goad her into throwing a punch. She had a poor tendency to leave herself open when she went on the offensive, making it the more opportune time to strike.

“I’m sure I could if I wanted to. Nine years of ballet, eight years of tap, and five years of contemporary,” she bragged, ticking off the list with a confident smile as she gracefully dodged a haymaker from Barton.

 _Of course._ Sometimes he forgot just how much free time rich kids had. Time they apparently filled with tutus and tiaras. Then again, he ended up doing the same thing, but all the tutus and tiaras were eighty feet off the ground and on unicycles. Close enough.

“Maybe you could use some classes yourself,” she added, managing a swift kick at his right ankle and leaving him momentarily unbalanced. “I hear they have a beginner class on Tuesdays,” she added, throwing a short, lower jab before Barton recovered. “And they’re always looking for a few guys.” She made sure to pull the punch of course, they always did when sparring. Clint had to control his force much more than Kate, given his very real potential to break most of her ribs. However, after once convincing her to throw a real punch, he was quite content to let her hold back a bit, too.

“Beginners? Come on, give me a little credit here,” he replied, forcing her left in a double fake out that had even her feet in a tangle. She parried his first blow, but caught the second one in the side, pulling back to avoid his low kick. “I think I could give those girls a run for their money.”

“I don’t know, I’m seriously doubting your pirouette abilities,” she returned, casting her eyes right as she made a bold attempt to catch him in the left shoulder. Barton spun his whole body with expert speed, catching her elbow from behind in a vice grip. Using the vulnerable joint, he pulled her down to the mat, pinning her arms to her sides with his knees before she could even try to turn the move on him. In half a second, she ended up on the flat of her back, Barton sitting on top of her with a smug look on his face.

“Still doubting?,” he asked, enjoying her look of frustration as she tried in vain to twist out of the position. It didn’t help that he knew all of her usual methods, having taught her most of them himself. 

“Poor form, and you forgot to point your toes,” she replied back, realizing that she should probably give up on breaking free before she embarrassed herself further. She wasn’t sure what was more disappointing, eating mat for the twelfth time that night, or missing her chance at a perfectly good nutcracker pun.

“And you say I’m a harsh teacher,” he mocked, catching her attempt at a kick with his free hand.

“Well it wasn’t completely horrible, maybe I’ll promote you to the intermediate class,” she continued, all but giving up as her third attempt to knock Barton off failed miserably. The overgrown child had plopped himself right on her stomach, looking more like a big brother teasing his younger sibling than an Avenger training his protege. 

“Sorry, what was that?” he asked, feigning deafness as he waited for his exasperated student to call uncle on the whole sarcastic argument. 

“Jesus Barton, you weigh a ton!”

“I missed that, come again?” 

“Ugh fine, you’re the Lord of the Dance, happy?”

“Hmm, not bad, but you’re really slacking on your titles there, Kate."

“Just get off of me. The Lord of the Dance has put on quite a few pounds.”

“I’m hurt. I’m on a very strict diet you know.” 

“Oh really? You do know that the ice cream diet isn’t a real thing, right?”

“Now that’s just a blatant lie.” 

“My wind pipe says otherwise.”

“I don’t know what they’re teaching you kids in school these days… “ 

“Ugh, get _off_ Barton.”

“…but ice cream is definitely one of the main food groups.” 

“Come on, I get it.” 

“Isn’t it just ice cream, donuts…” 

“On second thought, I am getting you a crushed lung cavity for Christmas.”

“… pizza, hot dogs, tacos, definitely tacos…”

“Seriously, move.”

“I mean it’s like they stuffed that food pyramid all into one…” 

“Get off, Clint.”

“…other pyramid and you don’t need anything else!”

“Get off…”

“And to really balance it out…”

“Get. Off.” 

“…you’re going to need to-”

“NOW” 

He didn’t know how he had missed it, but he had. Her tone had slipped indistinguishably from amused to frustrated to something he had never heard before: panicked. It was there, all too clear now in the near shriek that had just escaped his student as her half-hearted struggling turned to violent thrashing. He was frozen for a second, trying to rewind the scenario in his mind to figure out where it had gone wrong while the present continued crashing into him.

She didn’t know how she had missed it, but she had. The moment where the situation had leapt from comforting to horrifying, but all that she knew now was panic. She didn’t see Clint above her, she didn’t hear his mindless ramblings about food, or even her own fake threats. A much more vivid picture was playing itself out, a memory wrapping its way around her consciousness, a nightmare clawing into the present. There was too much heat, too little air, and she was suffocating in the open arena. The pressure was overwhelming, consuming and constraining every muscle and joint. No control, no power. No peace, only panic.

But then there was air. A sliver of light in the darkness and she grabbed it with a single-minded determination. The moment her arm was free she swung with the force of sheer desperation, not caring what she connected with so long as _it_ just got _off_. She just needed to get away. Get air. Get control. _Breath_.

As Barton pulled back his knee to offer a hand to Kate, he was greeted with a fist to the jaw. And she sure as hell was not pulling that punch. Rolling back onto the mat, he could already taste copper. Kate scrambled to her feet as he scrambled to put the whole mess together. It was all disorienting enough without getting hit in the head, and he struggled to put a coherent thought in it. There was just one that stuck.

_Aw shit._


End file.
